


Boots & Boys

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Drunk Blow Jobs, M/M, Model Louis, Mutual Pining, Photographer Harry, Riding, Rimming, Unsafe Sex, oh my, the other boys are mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 03:37:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12334743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Model Louis Tomlinson had a hard climb to the top, fraught with betrayal and lies. He’s been there long enough to be tired of the same old games. Could Harry Styles, up and coming, way too endearing for this kind of cutthroat industry photographer, be the one to pull him out of his funk?





	Boots & Boys

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to Tabitha for the art and this prompt:
> 
> Louis' been modelling for a long time. He can't even count the number of times he's been told to "make love to the camera." Personally, he'd rather have a go at the new guy behind it. Unfortunately, for Louis, Harry Styles insists on remaining professional. Louis bides his time. He sees the way Styles looks at him when there's not a camera in front of his face. One of these days, he's gonna come crawling.
> 
> I hope I did it somewhat justice and I only apologize it’s not more! I had big plans but life’s a bitcg.

Louis was tired.

 

It didn't use to be like this, you know? When he was a fresh-faced, wide-eyed teen with the last of his teenage spots still disappearing, plucked up from his quiet, low key life in Doncaster and thrown to the wolves of London, of Los Angeles, of Milan, of New York, and finally the alphas of Paris. He almost got torn to shreds a few time, both metaphorically and literally, but faltering and struggles soon turned to effortless kill or be killed.

 

He'd sucked more dicks than he cared to count for ‘favors’, made his way up through the ranks, fought tooth and nail for every scrap of opportunity. He'd done more things he wasn't proud of. Cutthroat, quick to go turncoat, and never trusting anything, that's how he'd finally made it to the top. Blood, sweat, tears, and a trail of used and betrayed behind him. But he made it. That's what counted, at the end of the day, right? …Right?

 

Louis used to think he knew the answer to that question, but now, now he wasn't nearly as sure as he used to be. Two years on top after three of nonstop struggling could do that, supposedly. And now, well, he was bored. Louis barely remembered what normal friendship even looked like anymore. Plenty of acquaintances, he had, and coworkers, people he'd stand by and make chitchat about the shit they were forced to wear during smoke breaks taken every few hours like clockwork, more scheduled than eating ever was. Bitching about the director, the photographer, the crap lights and posing with every muscle in your body clenched and still looking effortless and relaxed. 

 

But friends? Louis Tomlinson, or LT as he'd branded himself as an uprising wunderkind, had no friends. No significant lovers either, just bodies he'd use and leave, like an odd sort of vampire. He hates to admit it too, kept his days long at work and nights filled with alcohol and false intimacy, partying and desperate  _ living,  _ because once he was alone… it was all too clear to see what he lacked, what he didn't have. 

 

The silence screamed the truth, so he avoided it as much as he possibly could. It worked okay for a time, but now- well. Now, he was a lonely man who had to admit he'd pushed and hurt almost everybody who'd trusted him to get to where he was, and even looking around at the domain he'd built himself was a hurt he barely knew how to cope with. So. Louis was tired.

 

Today was yet another photoshoot, this time for a series of advertisements for  _ Adidas.  _ They wouldn't get it all done today, it'd be about a week long gig, but that was fine by Louis. He was interested in the photographer this time around. He'd only worked with Harry Styles a handful of times. Louis had first met him as a bumbling assistant over two years ago, eager but clumsy as he followed the main cameraman around like a lost puppy trying desperately to learn what to do from the older dog of the house. It'd been an experience, to say the least, considering how many times Harry had, quite accidentally, sabotaged things left and right, either by tripping during critical moments, destroying pieces of equipment, or getting distracted and ruining shots. 

 

Honestly, Louis was half-convinced that would be the end of Harry's career, which he'd almost been disappointed about. Somebody with that much passion, and skill, when he was focused- deserved this. And so polite too. Didn't hurt at all he was cute as a fucking button and just Louis' type for playthings and boy toys, but, the photographer had barely been scraping legal then. Louis had labeled him firmly off limits, they'd finished up, and he hadn't seen Harry again for several more months, and just in passing during parties, usually. This would be their first proper shoot since that disastrous first time. 

 

Truthfully, he wasn't sure whether to be excited or half-terrified. A two day shoot last time had ended up being six, when all was said and done. Louis wasn't particularly sure he wanted to be wearing the same shit for two weeks. He was now at the point in his life he could wear a new outfit everyday for several months; Louis had absolutely no desire to wear the same joggers for more than a few shoots, thank you.

 

Louis was wary as he walked into the shooting area, already in his favorite robe and ready to pull on the clothes he'd been contracted to wear. It wasn't too shit this week, at least. Several pairs of pants, a few hoodies, a couple of jumpers, and at least one v-neck tank. All, naturally, predominantly branded with the  _ Adidas  _ logo. Easy enough, really. He changed into the first outfit he's directed to, happily sliding into a pair of charcoal trousers and then snorting softly as he’s asked to keep his shirt off. Thank god he'd worked hard for these abs, had really started up an exercise routine about ten months ago now. He'd stuck to it despite some difficulty in the beginning, and he was looking pretty damn fit, if he did say so himself.

 

Louis perked up instantly as Harry entered the room, huffing quietly and immediately beginning to admire just how much Harry had grown in the, fuck,  _ year  _ since he'd seen the boy- no, this was a man, now. A rather delicious-looking one, as a matter of fact. Louis appreciatively raked his eyes down Harry's form, taking in that tall drink of rose water and smirking the slightest bit at the wobbly, Bambiesque way he walked that peeked hints at the gangly fawn Louis used to be acquainted with. 

 

He was stunning. A vision, really. Louis was dead certain that maybe this photographer was perhaps on the wrong side of the camera. He'd dressed himself well, too. Harry was tall, Jesus Christ, he'd shot way up. It was almost ridiculous. Long, never-ending legs encased in the tightest jeans Louis had seen in awhile, almost painted on black that hugged each curve of this thighs and clung to his love handles like a second skin. His shirt was long and flowing, tight in all the right places but artistically loose and billowy at the waist. It really truly suited Harry, which was almost surprising.

 

Not everybody could pull it off, that much Louis was absolutely sure of. Harry finished it off with a gorgeous pair of Chelsea boots, and several necklaces and rings, along with his nearly famous mop of chestnut curls. Supposedly, he'd nearly chopped it all off for charity, but chickened out and instead donated a rather significant amount of money, in honor of the dare he'd been challenged. Louis ran his hungry eyes over round, sweet-looking planes and edges, admiring Harry’s trim waist and broad shoulders, picturing those lovely lips around his dick and hands pawing at him in the throes of passion. The black nail varnish was a very nice touch, as well.

 

That must have been when Harry finally noticed him, and Louis flashed a bit of a smug smirk right back, as Harry tripped on the edge of some carpet and almost went genuinely flailing. Whoops. Maybe Louis’ charm bomb was up a little high at the moment? Louis snorted quietly to himself and watched Harry approach almost cautiously, like a spooked wild animal. Louis at least enjoyed watching him come forward. His body was made for a good time. He'd be outright lying if he said he didn't want a big piece of that. A little taste wouldn't be near enough to soothe his hunger.

 

“Hiiiiii,” Harry hummed, as he came to a halting stop right before Louis, smiling winningly with those crater deep dimples peeking at him. “It's been awhile, huh? God! It's been ages, who are we kidding, yeah? Do you… Uhm. Do you even remember me?” Harry asked almost shyly. Louis outright scoffed. One couldn't just casually forget Harry fucking Styles. What a dumb question.

 

“That's a dumb question. Of course I remember you,” Louis answered confidently. “Most delayed photoshoot I had ever been apart of, honestly.” Harry flushed bright pink and went squirmy at that… less than flattering memory. Louis winked at him and chuckled affectionately, making the sheepish man relax slightly. Thank god, really. 

 

“That wasn't the shining golden moment of my career as a photographer,” Harry admitted with a little ashamed laugh. Louis wouldn't mind hearing that sound again. In the slightest. Maybe right after he was admitting to wanting to ride Louis’ cock. “I promise I’m much more prompt now,” he chuckled, smiling slowly at Louis with twinkling eyes and a little, cute nose wrinkle. 

 

“Well. Good to know,” Louis snorted, carefully setting his hand on Harry's shoulder. “What am I modeling today? Shirtless, no doubt.” He sucked his abdomen in contemplatively, looking at it consideringly and then nodding. “I didn't eat breakfast this morning, so there shouldn't be any food babies,” he laughed.

 

“Well. That's a positive,” Harry teased him, winking- and Louis was shocked. Harry never teased him, not like that, anyway. He stared at him, almost abashed and taken aback, and Harry looked away, reddening dramatically. “I have to- the loo- yeah.” He placed his camera with his assistant and rushed to the bathroom, flushed. Louis watched him go, utterly and completely bemused. Silly boy.

 

Later, during the shoot, Louis turned the charm up to eleven with ease. If Harry was willing to respond to his games, well. Louis would happily play them. He could tell it wasn't affecting Harry though, honestly: he had his serious photographer™ face on, intense and concentrated as he pursed his lips and took several shots of Louis attempting, and succeeding, thank you, to look effortlessly flawless mid-kick of a football. Talented, he was. 

 

They brought in a girl for a few shots, a nice enough lady wearing a men’s jersey tied just below her chest, showing off her midriff. Harry was visibly uncomfortable by it, grimacing as he got the perfect money shot of the bored woman’s tits. He ushered her out as soon as he physically was able, almost breathing a sigh of relief. A man after Louis’ own heart, it seemed. It was almost precious.

 

Finally, they were done for the day. He'd watched Harry fuss over lighting and props like an old biddy during lunch, not afraid to admit to a bit of spying, not by far. Louis had once stayed up until 4 am studying Harry's personal Instagram photos, seeking out each caption and trying desperately to decode and puzzle out how on god’s green earth this man’s brain fucking worked. It still remained an enigma to this day. Harry Styles was uncrackable. 

 

After the day’s final shots were studied through and they were released, Louis hovered nearby, watching Harry busy himself with selecting the photos they would keep and what they would trash. It took him awhile; clearly he was intensely focused on his work. Louis was, despite himself, even more endeared. He was such a passionate man, it wasn’t hard to picture that intensity in another… setting. A more intimate one. 

 

Slowly, he sidled up to the boy, eyes alight with mischief as he smiled at Harry cheekily. “Never seen somebody squint at a camera that hard before. Hopefully not all the shots are pure trash?” Louis asked, head cocking curiously. A ghost of a smile flit over Harry’s face, and he looked up with gently reproachful eyes.

 

“As if. Louis Tomlinson, you’re a masterpiece who knows just exactly how he’s supposed to contort and pose for the lighting, the atmosphere, the dynamic… I think you could probably sell a burlap sack if I got you in the right scene,” he said coyly, and Louis blinked, actually surprised. Harry normally didn’t play so easily into his traps. 

 

“Me? A masterpiece? I don’t know about all that. But I do appreciate it,” Louis told him affectionately, eyes glittering as he smiled a big Cheshire Cat grin at the man. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to come out with me and the lads- and ladies- tonight? It’ll be funnnn,” Louis sing-songs at him, winking. “Dominik, Bebe, Liam, Niall- all of them will be there. Should be a good time. You at all interested?” Louis inquired, already expecting a no. Harry had never seemed too interested in the typical glitz and trashy glam party life that accompanied most of their work. 

 

“Yes,” Harry answered smoothly, and Louis was genuinely taken aback, eyes widening. “I’d love to Lou, been needing a bit of an unwind lately. Work’s been taking a lot.” Harry stretched, back making a horrid crack, and shrugged with a grimace. “Is what it is, really, but I’d kill for a little rest and relaxation. Can’t get any rest for the mo, unfortunately, but plenty of relaxing when I cut loose at the club,” Harry laughed. Louis gently placed a hand on his shoulder, clasping it and offering a cigarette, which Harry turned down with a nose crinkle and scoff.

 

“We’ll be seeing you then, H!”

 

And he did. Harry showed up looking like sin in a Gucci sweater and Marc Jacob jeans, hair a barely tamed mess and cheeks already flushed with over bright eyes. Somebody had been pre-gaming. Naughty. Louis kept an eye on him all night, silently bringing drinks and food and company when it looked like the boy needed some. Finally, about midnight, Harry was a sloppy mess. 

 

“Lou,” he giggled weakly. “Louiiiiiiiis. No s’s. Eeeee! Eeeee! Like a guinea pig.” Harry stumbled without even moving, having to regain his feet very clumsily. “Ugh. Ground is swaying. Nobody told me this party was on a yacht,” Harry hiccuped unhappily, brows furrowing so he looked like a bundle of furious kittens. Louis snickered gently and carefully pushed his sweaty mane up off his neck with a gentle coo. Harry practically purred and leaned into it like a cat seeking desperate pets. Obediently, Louis gave him a head scratch. Harry melted, actually gasping when Louis accidentally tugged some hair. He filed that away, immediately, for later, as Harry blinked up at him languidly, eyes dark and pupils so wide and black they swallowed the soft green of his irises.

 

“I need to wee,” Louis told him regretfully, hiding a fond smirk at the way Harry whines unhappily as he had to regretfully untangle himself. He made his way to the loo and quickly set about relieving himself with a happy, satisfied sigh, finishing swiftly and then washing his hands. Moments from stepping out and attempting to seek out Harry- the door opened and just that man stumbled through, weakly shivering.

 

“Harry?” Louis asked cautiously, a little nervous by the look on his face. He couldn’t place it. “Do you need— oh my- I, shit!” Louis gasped, as Harry gripped his wrist too tightly and dragged him into the largest stall. Within moments, Harry was on his knees, Louis with his back on the cracked tile of the wall, trousers suddenly unzipped and a growing erection sticking obscenely through his fly. Harry smiled up at Louis, near a smirk, then pressed a few delicate kisses along the older man’s shaft, deliberately teasing. Louis' amused, but confused scoff was cut off by a low, choked gasp as Harry, without warning, slipped his cock in and took it to the base, nose buried in nicely trimmed pubes.

 

"Holy shit," Louis managed to spit out. He stared at Harry with wide, aroused eyes as the man slowly began to bob his head in shallow, little motions, throat convulsing to milk Louis' dick. It was a surprise, and it was filthily hot. Louis could deepthroat, and  _ well _ , if he concentrated hard enough, and was in the mood to be gagging for cock, and if he had enough time to work himself into it with a normal blowjob first, usually… but  _ somebody _ had clearly been practicing.

  
Harry paid him no mind, busy with his work, sucking Louis to a messy edge. Pulling off a bit, Harry wiped his mouth, reddened and wet, feverish and shivering almost violently— before freezing as Louis fisted his soft curly hair in his fingers and violently started to fuck his mouth, deep and hard until he was almost about to come, then allowed Harry to pull off again. Sighing, Harry gingerly touched his lips, swollen, bright scarlet and bruised, before smiling at Louis tiredly. Finally, Louis took it easy, thrusts shallow and grip soft on the other boy's shoulder before shooting off suddenly down his throat.   
  
Harry slowly, satisfyingly, slumped to the ground, eyes closed and chest rising and falling with each deep breath. Louis slipped down beside him, a combination of hands and mouth bringing Harry off a second time (apparently giving blowjobs makes Harry come in his pants like a teenager).

 

“Fucking hell, Harry,” he groaned, staring at the disheveled minx as he stared back and batted his lashes all pretty and innocent.

 

“S’not where I come from, try again,” Harry giggles, sloppy little drunk. 

 

“Oi,” Louis couldn’t help but laugh. “Let’s get you home, you noodleman.” He stood up and quickly found assistance in his friend’s and Lyft, loading Harry into one, pre paying the fare, and watching him go like a fussy old hen watching her young chicks. 

 

Luckily, easing his mind immensely, Louis received 3 eggplant emojis once Harry was presumably home safe.

 

~~~

 

Louis was used to drinking on work nights. Parties practically counted as overtime, anymore. He made connections, got shoots, made ‘friends’ who could introduce him to other ‘friends’ and gigs and all of the things he needed to live his comfortable life in the lap of model luxury. It seemed… Harry wasn’t used to such a life. At least, from the (obvious) cues.

 

The next morning, Harry was a bitch from the get go. In last night’s clothes, unshowered, hair a riotous mess that looked like he spent his free time rolling in hay bales, and chugging chamomile tea, Gatorade, and Tylenol like it was going out of style. It was hangover central. Poor thing asked the lights to be dimmed several times, clutched at his pounding head constantly, and walked unsteadily, like the ground was apt to move around on him. Judging from his many stumbles, well— maybe it was. 

 

Louis hoped he was a quiet and comforting presence, not being a joking, teasing menace and mostly just doing what he was told for once. They wrapped up the day’s shoot in almost record time. He was pretty sure it was for the best. Harry had been turning steadily paler and sicker-looking throughout the shift, often disappearing with a green about the gills look to the loo. As they finished the final picture, Louis immediately went to him— and Harry immediately turned away.

 

“Gotta get home, Louis. Sorry,” he said curtly, clutching his head and wincing. “Good day, see ya tomorrow.” And then he left, barely saying goodbye to anybody else before vanishing out the front door. Truthfully, he thought nothing of his abrupt departure until the next day. When it was repeated. As soon as the day’s project was wrapped up, Harry left. And the day after that? Same damn thing.

 

The rest of the goddamn week went the same exact way, unfortunately. Harry even started eating lunch elsewhere- all to avoid Louis. Hurt and upset and even pretty goddamn offended, Louis decided it was what the fuck ever. He put his best, most professional foot forwards no matter Harry’s petty behavior. Was he passionate, however…? No, regrettably. Bored as hell with no motivation or anything beyond pointed and short, one word directions, the quality dipped mildly, and neither strained party could quite recover it.

 

Finally, at last, it was all over. A painful, heels-dragging, long fucking week of awkwardness and uncomfortable tension— done and behind them firmly. Louis was more than ready, thank you, to move on, physically and metaphorically. He negotiated his final pay with a little harmless haggling, and then bid farewell to the rest of the crew, uncertain, at this point in time, if he would even bother to show up to the wrap party. It’d been such a shitshow the past few days…

 

Against all personal advice, he decided he would, and let Sarah know he’d be coming round so she could get a good head count for food and drink. He waved briefly at the crew, nodded at Niall and Liam, then stiffly tipping his chin up to acknowledge Harry, who stared back, silent and unmoving. Louis muttered a few, choice phrases, then exited to his car, gratefully tugging on a jumper to protect against the wind outside.

 

He got home and quickly stripped, slipping into a warm bath as soon as he could and trying to quell the uneasy butterflies that started up in his belly when he considered the fact this could, potentially, be the last time he saw Harry for a long while, professional setting or not. It made him…feel way too many feelings to parse out each individually, although sadness was more prevalent than Louis was entirely pleased with. Ugh. How pathetic and sappy of himself. Louis was disgusted with himself.

 

Unwilling to admit it later, Louis then spent a solid hour and a half getting ready, fussing over several outfits with a huffy groan before finally settling on his tightest pair of jeans and a £1500 sweater. It was soft, comfortable, like hugging a cloud. He’d happened to wear it for Harry’s and his first photo shoot, too, stole it from the set by complete accident when he wound up drunk and escorted home still in it. He wondered if Harry would remember. It seemed a bit unlikely, but honestly, who knew? In this day and time and week? Nobody knew, nobody but fate.

 

Still, Louis went. He got loaded into his car after a final fussy check up on his hair and then left, butterflies refreshing and filling his stomach with nervous flapping wings once more. He really wanted to patch his friendship up with Harry. The man always attracted nice gigs and good props and excellent pay, not to mention he was fantastic to work with, a real gem- so no, Louis had no earthly desire to leave it on the edge like this. He had missed Harry’s friendship immensely this entire week, and the thought of never having another shoot with Harry made Louis’ throat tighten up and his mouth set into a downturned frown. 

 

He would fix this. He had to.

 

~~~

 

By the time Louis arrived, safe and sound, in one piece and ready to fucking party, it was in full swing. Everybody who had helped even the tiniest bit on the shoot was there. Louis even recognized a coffee runner from just one day. The liquor was freely flowing, there was a crafts table piled with food, a pretty decent dj, and a bunch of pretty people dancing on each other. It was a scene Louis felt right at home in, truthfully. The thought disturbed him and made him restless, so he set his drink to the side and poured his energy into tracking down the elusive photographer in what almost felt like a game of cat and mouse.

 

It seemed every time he got close to Harry, he’d lose him to the crowd and not find him again for minutes on end, which was a fairly frustrating experience. After a few times around that carousel, Louis was about done, marching over to where Harry popped up, almost aggressively chest bumping and prodding people out of his way.

 

“Harry!” Louis called, striding purposefully over, glad the crowd finally parted for him. Harry froze mid shuffle away and sighed, squaring up his shoulders and offering Louis a brief smile. Awkward. Exceedingly awkward. Louis plowed through its fragile thickness without pause, offering a polite greeting before practically ordering Harry to come speak in private a moment. 

 

“Please,” Louis tacked on as an afterthought, offering a sheepish smile and then relaxing a tad as Harry acquiesced willingly enough, following Louis into an empty room where they had previously stored a majority of the larger props for the shoot. It was now thoroughly cleared out besides a desk and some chairs. Louis sat in one of them with a sigh, Harry perching his bum awkwardly on the table and crossing his legs, facing him.

 

Silence ruled supreme for a long moment. 

 

Then they both started talking at once.

 

“See, well—“

 

“I just don’t—“

 

Then they both abruptly shut up, waiting for the other to speak. The tension was back and so damn palpable you could have cut it with a butcher knife. The air was fragile between them, and Harry and Louis stared at each other for a heavy moment of silent contemplation.

 

“Go on,” Louis eventually said, gesturing gently outwards. “Suppose you ought to go first then, yeah?”

 

Harry shook his head and gestured right back at Louis, eyes wide. “You go. Please.”

 

Sighing, Louis took a deep breath. “I hope we can work past this, I really would be devastated if this were our final shoot together, all because I took advantage of you whilst drunk,” Louis sighed, partly frowning at his feet. “I should’ve been on top of it, I was less intoxicated than you. I’m so incredibly sorry, Harry. Can you… can you find it in your heart...to forgive me?” Louis croaked out, cheeks burning as he switched his gaze back to his vans when Harry didn’t answer right away. Anxiety began to bubble up all over again before—

 

Louis looked up, ready to blurt fresh apologies and flee as fast as he could, then froze as Harry gently gripped his cheek, tugged him close, and kissed him hard on the mouth with a sweet sigh. Louis was struck dumb but soon recovered, eagerly pawing at Harry’s nice fucking arse and trying to drag him closer.

 

“Shit babe— I thought, oh god,” Louis said quietly. “I’m so sorry that all this went like this, it was never ever my intention,” he promised him. Harry shook his head in bemused amusement.

 

“Shut up, sweetheart,” he whispered into Louis’ ear, then tugged him closer again, trying to practically plaster himself to Louis. It was, admittedly, pretty cute and lovely.

 

Louis shook his head in amazement as a laugh bubbled up out of his throat. Stretching a hand up, he started petting at Harry’s curls affectionately. “I will shut up...if you make me.”

 

“... Deal. My place or yours?”

 

~~~

 

"Mmmph, mmmmph," Harry whimpered wildly, rubbing his slick cock into Louis’ abs and moaning into his shoulder while Louis awkwardly shuffled them into his bedroom. The second Harry touched the mattress, he splayed his legs open and reached down to plunge two fingers into his tight hole, causing Louis to almost choke on his spit. Harry impatiently worked himself, prodding at his arse rapidly while already adding a third finger to burn the muscles with the stretch and palming shallowly at his dick, where it lay flushed and pink as it curved into his navel. 

 

Louis took over, licking his digits wet and easing Harry's out before sliding four of his thicker fingers in. Harry convulsed, head smacking into the wall as he ground desperately down on Louis and arched up with a strangled scream. When Harry had had enough of the tortuous teasing, he pulled off with an obscene pop and threw himself at Louis, pinning him to the bed, tearing off his already torn trousers and sliding down on Louis’ straining erection until the swell of his surprisingly peachy bum rested against his hips, cradled calmly.

  
Panting, Harry set a furious pace; ripping himself up before slamming back down, causing them both to gasp and grunt, respectively. Louis’ fingers, still wet with Harry’s insides, curled into milky flesh harshly, so hard that there would be bruises for the next week. It only spurred Harry on, bouncing vigorously on Louis’ cock until he reached completion; heavy-lidded eyes, mouth open (a flash of white teeth and a pink, pink tongue), his body beginning to twitch and clench as he spurted white onto Louis’ heaving chest and stomach.

 

But he still had to make his lover come, and despite his heavy, burning limbs and muscles, he steadily rose and fell, rhythmically clenching around the dick up his arse. Body screaming in protest, Harry slowed to a grinding churn when he felt Louis’ release gush hot and wet. He collapsed across Louis’ chest, feebly mouthing at his jaw, and if he was eager to go again in mere minutes, Louis had no complaints, not even for the next passionate few hours.

 

~~~

 

It’s only an hour later that Louis pinned Harry down on the carpet, the younger man’s toned legs locked around the back of his neck while he ran his tongue in flat, broad strokes up Harry’s crack, pausing to lick questioningly at that tiny, pink hole and opening it up more and more with each swipe. Harry twitched and arched into his touch, toes curling and fingers digging up furry tufts from the floor with the force of his grip, eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving. 

 

When he attempted to grind back on Louis’ tongue, Louis pulled off, popping his head up to glare at his boyfriend; hair a feathery mess with several crazy cowlicks; eyes dark and hungry; and his mouth, god his mouth, lips red and wet and obscene with spit smeared across his cheeks and chin. When Louis dove back in, immediately stabbing his tongue past the ring of muscles, Harry came with a hoarse scream. White streaks trailed up his twitching tummy, all the way to the bottom of his chin.

 

Louis pulled back with a sobbing laugh, pushing Harry up so that he was half in the air, his shoulders digging into the carpet, and thrust into him in one, smooth pump. Harry'd have carpet burns all across his back later from the force of Louis’ fucking, all sweat dripping, mouth panting and body tight and coiled, before he snapped, emptying himself into Harry's willing body with a strangled growl.

 

~~~

 

And that wasn’t the end, it wasn’t some automatic happy ending, as much as Louis wished it was. He still struggled to let Harry in properly, and not withdraw, or treat him callously. He had to relearn how to… relate, really. It wasn’t a joy ride. Tears, fights, arguments— even a break up at one point, poor things. But they persevered. They stuck it out, and they were happy more often than not.

 

Many years later, Harry still kept that life-changing photoshoot magazine, pressed carefully into an old box for preservation. It was, after all, how he’d met his husband properly.


End file.
